The Others: Whispers in the Dark
by the Chronicler
Chapter Two
Passpartout gently closed the bedroom door, careful not to make any sound. He paused to listen at the door, making sure that everything inside was as he had left it. Assured, he turned and hurried down the stairs to the sitting room where Miss Rebecca and Master Fogg were waiting.
Phileas Fogg was nursing a glass of brandy, sitting in his favorite chair at the window.
Rebecca was pacing the room, flipping through the pages of Jules' notebook. She was paying close attention to one of the latest drawings. "Look at this, Phileas... right there... can you make it out?" She held the page out to her cousin.
Phileas looked at it closely. "When did he start to draw people?" he wondered.
Rebecca shook her head. "I wonder if he realized that he did." She ran a finger around the very light drawing, barely visible among the more prominent lines of the tall, futurist flying building. "It isn't really a defined drawing. More like part of the shadow of the original drawing."
Passpartout leaned over her shoulder to see what they were talking about. "Like a cloud picture." he observed.
"A what?" Phileas glared up at his valet.
"A cloud picture, Master." Passpartout repeated. "Shapes fluffy clouds make."
Rebecca nodded slightly. "Come now, Phileas. You spent as much time on your back in the grass staring up at the clouds as a child as any one of us did."
"I certainly did not!" Phileas growled. He made a point of ignoring her grin. Instead he asked "Is he asleep?" referring to his house guest.
Passpartout nodded. "Finally, Master. I gave him a little something that will let him sleep until he needs to eat."
Phileas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Good. Then I want you to go and fetch Dr. Camin."
"Camin?" Rebecca repeated the name, instantly recognizing it.
Passpartout frowned. "Master?" he asked, confused.
"Dr Camin is a psychologist, Phileas." Rebecca informed him as if he did not already know that.
"No, he is the BEST psychologist of our time." the lord of the manor corrected. Feeling her glare, knowing a protest was coming, he held up a hand, intending to get the first and the last words on the subject. "Rebecca, Verne is hearing voices. This is not the best indication of mental stability."
"Like you or I are in any position to make a comparison?" Rebecca put her hands on her hips, a true sign of defiance. "The great Phileas Fogg wandering the great casinos of the world in a bloody balloon, gambling with property, life, and anything else handy! And me, seeking thrill a minute as the only lady secret agent!" She shook her head almost violently. "Jules is no more crazy than either of us!"
Phileas nodded slightly, as if considering all she had said. "Indeed... you make an excellent point. But let's not overwhelm the good doctor on his first visit." He turned his attention back to his valet. "Perhaps you should make arrangements for Rebecca and myself while you are at his office."
"Phileas, I am serious!" Rebecca snapped. "I will not allow any head shrink to come in and label Jules as crazy and lock him away just because he's different!"
Passpartout's eyes went big at those words. He remembered his own time in a mental ward. It had not been pleasant. Every now and then, when he was feeling particularly lonely, the nightmares would come back. He shook his head. "No, Master, you can't allow them to take Mister Jules to THAT place!" he pleaded.
Phileas huffed. "I have no intentions of anyone going anywhere." he assured them both, his tone gruff, hurt that they would think he could allow that to happen. "But I do believe that the consultation of an expert in the field of the mind may, just in the slightest, be of some interest. In case either of you missed it the first time: Verne is hearing voices!"
"You didn't think there was anything wrong with his little trips to the future." Rebecca countered.
"There is a difference, dear cousin, between that special gift of insight our young Verne has, and hearing voices." Phileas answered.
"How do you know?" came the challenge. "If Jules had come up to you before you knew him and said this is the future..." she waved a drawing of some underwater vessel, ".. would you have had any different reaction than you have about him hearing voices?"
Phileas frowned. He remembered what happened his first meeting with the writer. It had not gone well. And, yes, he had been quite dubious about the boy's abilities, not to mention intentions with such abilities. But Jules HAD proved himself, not only innocent of his accusations, but also very insightful. As time went by, an understanding of the visions grew. "It is true, Verne has a connection to the future. But, Rebecca, he is hearing voices." He held up his hand before she could continue the argument. "Let's just hear Dr Camin's opinion. Then we can discuss our next move from there."
Rebecca continued to glare at him, but she offered no more protest.
Thus, Phileas nodded to his valet, sending him on his errand.
As Passpartout left the room, he offered "Perhaps all Mister Jules needs is good sleep. He be all better when he wakes. You'll see. Passpartout make him all better with sleep."
"Sleep indeed." Phileas mumbled to himself. Thinking of such, he rose to his feet and went to check on the boy.
**********
Whispers....
Whispering....
Somewhere.......
Someone..........
What......
Who.......
Why.......
"HELP ME!"
Jules Verne bolted right out of bed, tripped over the carpet, stumbled back, and landed most undignified on the floor with yet another thud.
Phileas Fogg pushed away from the window and peered over the bed at his fallen friend. "That was... most interesting." he observed with a frown.
The customary fear, followed by confusion wore off quickly, whether due to Fogg making his presence known or Jules was just getting used to it, leaving the young writer sitting on the floor, running his fingers through his hair. "This is becoming a nuisance." he mumbled.
Phileas stepped around the bed and crouched down beside him. "You are spending a great deal of your time on the floor." He took him under the arm, careful to avoid the bruise he now knew was there, pulled him to his feet, and guided him back to the bed.
Jules knew better than to resist. He didn't really want to chance falling back to sleep and going through that all again... then again wakefulness wasn't exactly a safe guard either any more.
With a sigh, he sat down on the bed and dropped his head in his hands.
Phileas stood, protectively, over him for a long silent moment before someone behind him cleared his throat.
Jules glanced up, but Phileas was standing between him and whoever else was in the room. He frowned. It wasn't like Fogg to let strangers into such a personal place as a bedroom, even a guest's bedroom, particularly Jules Verne's bedroom where hundreds of drawings and stories and this and that were plastered on the walls, scattered on the desk, covering the floor.
Phileas Fogg stood tall and stiff. He was generally tall and stiff, but he seemed even more so at that moment, as if he truly did not want to do what he was going to be doing in the next moment. His eyes locked on a spot just above the top of his young friend's head, and he said "Jules Verne, may I introduce you to Dr Camin." He stepped aside and indicated a fat, balding man who stood beside the door.
The man smiled gently at the boy. "Allo, Monsuir Verne. Comment allez-vous?"
Jules eyes narrowed suspiciously. A hesitant smile crossed his face and he offered "Bonne. Merci." He glanced up at Phileas who was still watching that spot of nothing just above his head. He looked back at the doctor. "But we're in England. I prefer speaking english while among english speakers, if you don't mind."
Camin continued to smile. "Yes, of course. Whatever you feel most comfortable with."
Again Jules glanced up at his friend and again he was ignored. Taking a deep breath, he said "You are a psychologist." It was neither a question nor a guess. It was a simple, straight out declaration.
Phileas glanced back sharply at the doctor, wanting to see his response. Despite knowing better, he hoped that, maybe, with in those few exchanges, Camin could have already made his diagnoses and Jules wouldn't have to suffer this undignified verbal examination any longer. But he did know better.
Dr Camin continued to smile, a well rehearsed expression that had never failed him in putting at ease and gaining the trust of his patients. "Yes, I am a psychologist." he answered, nodding slightly, acknowledging the boy's observational skills. He moved toward him, taking slow careful steps, being sure not to start the child in any possible way. "Does that bother you?"
Jules sighed. He didn't bother looking up at Phileas for an explanation this time. He didn't need one. "I suppose I expected it." he admitted.
Camin stopped beside the bed. He noted the Lord of the Manor standing rather close to the boy, a protective stance... maybe even over protective. He wondered if he was protecting the child from the doctor or from the voices The valet had joked on their ride to the manor about the psychologist seeing to his master and his cousin, the Miss Rebecca fogg. Camin now wondered if the jittery frenchman had truly been joking.
But, returning his attention back to the reason behind THIS visit, Dr Camin asked the boy "Do you know why I am here?"
Jules shrugged. "I suppose there is some concern that I am losing my mind."
"Do you think you are losing your mind?"
Jules Verne looked at him for a long moment, before smiling. "Only every other day."
"No." Phileas suddenly spoke up, drawing the eyes of the other two.
The doctor frowned at the interruption, but Jules looked up at his friend eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.
Phileas' strong and steady gaze met that of the unsure boy's. "Verne, you have an exceptional gift. As to the why of this gift, I do not know. I do know, though, that you have this gift. You are not losing your mind."
"You're talking about the vision, Fogg." Jules pointed out. "Not the whispers."
"Visions?" Camin inquired. Apparently he had not been told everything about this unique young man. And Fogg, apparently again, had been supporting, perhaps even encouraging, an unhealthy mental condition in the boy. This was not good... for either of them.
Both Fogg and Verne ignored him.
"As long as I have known you, Verne, nothing had come to that mind of yours without a reason." Phileas continued. "The visions have reason, purpose, that we have seen time and time again, proving that fact." he paused, but only for the slightest of moments. "There must be a reason for these voices. You must simply decipher that reason."
Jules smiled slightly. "Simply?"
"Simply." Phileas nodded once, a sharp and direct movement meant to say volumes without saying a single word. He rested a hand on his young friend's shoulder for a moment, then turned around to face the doctor. "Dr Camin, if you will walk with me, I will see you to the door."
Camin continued to frown. He did not understand what had just happened, but, professionally, it put him on edge. Referring to all his education and his long years of experience, this was not a healthy situation, and he did not want to leave it like this. But that same education and experience warned him that such a protective guardian, such as Lord Phileas Fogg, had a profound effect on some one as young and impressionable as this young Jules Verne. Forcing a separation of the two could do more damage than good. He had to find out what was happening and convince Fogg into giving the boy up.
"Doctor?" Fogg called to the man, holding the bedroom door open for them to exit.
Camin quickly offered a smile to the youngster, saying "Bonne nuit, Monsuir Verne." Then turned and followed Fogg out into the hall. Once the door was securely latched behind them, he faced Fogg. "Sir, you did summon me here for my expertise..."
"Which was a mistake." Fogg quickly interrupted.
The doctor couldn't help but feel a little insulted. "And why is that?" he asked, managing to keep his tone under strict control.
"Because, there is no ground work laid out for what goes on in Verne's head." Fogg explained without truly explaining anything. "How can you make a correct diagnoses when you have nothing to compare him to?" he shook his head. "My apologies for interrupting your day, Doctor. Passpartout will see you home." He started away, down the hall.
Alright, now he was feeling more than a little insulted. "I do not believe that you are capable of making such a decision about that boy's welfare."
Phileas Fogg stopped. The muscles in his back went visibly taunt. With very precise, very dangerous movement, he turned to, once again, face the doctor. "You believe so?" Despite his obvious anger, his tone remained calm, pleasant even.
Camin had plunge in and didn't know how to get out. Swallowing hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. he mustered his courage to continue. "Yes, I believe so. Mister Fogg, it is obvious that Mister Verne means a great deal to you and your household. You want to believe that he is alright, that nothing can ever be wrong with him. Every father feels this way toward his children..."
"Verne is not my child." Fogg pointed out, momentarily amused with the idea of him being anyone's father. Amused again with the idea of any father trying to keep in hand a young Jules Verne.
"You have the same effect on the boy as a father, or, perhaps, and older brother would have." Camin responded. "And you are reacting as such." He held his chin high, ready to take whatever the man was going to dish out after hearing his next words. "That simply truths here are that Jules Verne is not only hearing voices, as you have informed me earlier, but also seeing things... Visions are for prophets, Mister Fogg. Jules Verne is dillusional... and you are encouraging this ill condition." He refused to see the man stiffen. He refused to believe that he was in any real danger here. "What should be done immediately is for you to step back into that room and tell Mister Verne that you believe it best for him to come with me back to the hospital where he can receive the proper ca..." His words ended in a yipe as he saw the tall, powerful man coming at him.
Suddenly a flash of red hair bleared across his vision as a tall, beautiful woman stepped between them. "Phileas, behave yourself." Rebecca Fogg warned her cousin. "You wished to hear Dr Camin's opinion. Do not blame him for giving you what you asked for!"
Phileas glared at her for a long, seething moment.
For the longest time, Camin was terrified that this delegate looking woman would be no match for the hulking "gentleman" who stood ready to strangle the life out of him, not to mention any further opinion he might have.
But, Phileas rage was no match for the strength of those emerald green eyes of his cousin. With a wave of his hand, he spun about and stomped away, yelling as he went "Passpartout! Where are you?"
by the Chronicler
Chapter Two
Passpartout gently closed the bedroom door, careful not to make any sound. He paused to listen at the door, making sure that everything inside was as he had left it. Assured, he turned and hurried down the stairs to the sitting room where Miss Rebecca and Master Fogg were waiting.
Phileas Fogg was nursing a glass of brandy, sitting in his favorite chair at the window.
Rebecca was pacing the room, flipping through the pages of Jules' notebook. She was paying close attention to one of the latest drawings. "Look at this, Phileas... right there... can you make it out?" She held the page out to her cousin.
Phileas looked at it closely. "When did he start to draw people?" he wondered.
Rebecca shook her head. "I wonder if he realized that he did." She ran a finger around the very light drawing, barely visible among the more prominent lines of the tall, futurist flying building. "It isn't really a defined drawing. More like part of the shadow of the original drawing."
Passpartout leaned over her shoulder to see what they were talking about. "Like a cloud picture." he observed.
"A what?" Phileas glared up at his valet.
"A cloud picture, Master." Passpartout repeated. "Shapes fluffy clouds make."
Rebecca nodded slightly. "Come now, Phileas. You spent as much time on your back in the grass staring up at the clouds as a child as any one of us did."
"I certainly did not!" Phileas growled. He made a point of ignoring her grin. Instead he asked "Is he asleep?" referring to his house guest.
Passpartout nodded. "Finally, Master. I gave him a little something that will let him sleep until he needs to eat."
Phileas took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Good. Then I want you to go and fetch Dr. Camin."
"Camin?" Rebecca repeated the name, instantly recognizing it.
Passpartout frowned. "Master?" he asked, confused.
"Dr Camin is a psychologist, Phileas." Rebecca informed him as if he did not already know that.
"No, he is the BEST psychologist of our time." the lord of the manor corrected. Feeling her glare, knowing a protest was coming, he held up a hand, intending to get the first and the last words on the subject. "Rebecca, Verne is hearing voices. This is not the best indication of mental stability."
"Like you or I are in any position to make a comparison?" Rebecca put her hands on her hips, a true sign of defiance. "The great Phileas Fogg wandering the great casinos of the world in a bloody balloon, gambling with property, life, and anything else handy! And me, seeking thrill a minute as the only lady secret agent!" She shook her head almost violently. "Jules is no more crazy than either of us!"
Phileas nodded slightly, as if considering all she had said. "Indeed... you make an excellent point. But let's not overwhelm the good doctor on his first visit." He turned his attention back to his valet. "Perhaps you should make arrangements for Rebecca and myself while you are at his office."
"Phileas, I am serious!" Rebecca snapped. "I will not allow any head shrink to come in and label Jules as crazy and lock him away just because he's different!"
Passpartout's eyes went big at those words. He remembered his own time in a mental ward. It had not been pleasant. Every now and then, when he was feeling particularly lonely, the nightmares would come back. He shook his head. "No, Master, you can't allow them to take Mister Jules to THAT place!" he pleaded.
Phileas huffed. "I have no intentions of anyone going anywhere." he assured them both, his tone gruff, hurt that they would think he could allow that to happen. "But I do believe that the consultation of an expert in the field of the mind may, just in the slightest, be of some interest. In case either of you missed it the first time: Verne is hearing voices!"
"You didn't think there was anything wrong with his little trips to the future." Rebecca countered.
"There is a difference, dear cousin, between that special gift of insight our young Verne has, and hearing voices." Phileas answered.
"How do you know?" came the challenge. "If Jules had come up to you before you knew him and said this is the future..." she waved a drawing of some underwater vessel, ".. would you have had any different reaction than you have about him hearing voices?"
Phileas frowned. He remembered what happened his first meeting with the writer. It had not gone well. And, yes, he had been quite dubious about the boy's abilities, not to mention intentions with such abilities. But Jules HAD proved himself, not only innocent of his accusations, but also very insightful. As time went by, an understanding of the visions grew. "It is true, Verne has a connection to the future. But, Rebecca, he is hearing voices." He held up his hand before she could continue the argument. "Let's just hear Dr Camin's opinion. Then we can discuss our next move from there."
Rebecca continued to glare at him, but she offered no more protest.
Thus, Phileas nodded to his valet, sending him on his errand.
As Passpartout left the room, he offered "Perhaps all Mister Jules needs is good sleep. He be all better when he wakes. You'll see. Passpartout make him all better with sleep."
"Sleep indeed." Phileas mumbled to himself. Thinking of such, he rose to his feet and went to check on the boy.
**********
Whispers....
Whispering....
Somewhere.......
Someone..........
What......
Who.......
Why.......
"HELP ME!"
Jules Verne bolted right out of bed, tripped over the carpet, stumbled back, and landed most undignified on the floor with yet another thud.
Phileas Fogg pushed away from the window and peered over the bed at his fallen friend. "That was... most interesting." he observed with a frown.
The customary fear, followed by confusion wore off quickly, whether due to Fogg making his presence known or Jules was just getting used to it, leaving the young writer sitting on the floor, running his fingers through his hair. "This is becoming a nuisance." he mumbled.
Phileas stepped around the bed and crouched down beside him. "You are spending a great deal of your time on the floor." He took him under the arm, careful to avoid the bruise he now knew was there, pulled him to his feet, and guided him back to the bed.
Jules knew better than to resist. He didn't really want to chance falling back to sleep and going through that all again... then again wakefulness wasn't exactly a safe guard either any more.
With a sigh, he sat down on the bed and dropped his head in his hands.
Phileas stood, protectively, over him for a long silent moment before someone behind him cleared his throat.
Jules glanced up, but Phileas was standing between him and whoever else was in the room. He frowned. It wasn't like Fogg to let strangers into such a personal place as a bedroom, even a guest's bedroom, particularly Jules Verne's bedroom where hundreds of drawings and stories and this and that were plastered on the walls, scattered on the desk, covering the floor.
Phileas Fogg stood tall and stiff. He was generally tall and stiff, but he seemed even more so at that moment, as if he truly did not want to do what he was going to be doing in the next moment. His eyes locked on a spot just above the top of his young friend's head, and he said "Jules Verne, may I introduce you to Dr Camin." He stepped aside and indicated a fat, balding man who stood beside the door.
The man smiled gently at the boy. "Allo, Monsuir Verne. Comment allez-vous?"
Jules eyes narrowed suspiciously. A hesitant smile crossed his face and he offered "Bonne. Merci." He glanced up at Phileas who was still watching that spot of nothing just above his head. He looked back at the doctor. "But we're in England. I prefer speaking english while among english speakers, if you don't mind."
Camin continued to smile. "Yes, of course. Whatever you feel most comfortable with."
Again Jules glanced up at his friend and again he was ignored. Taking a deep breath, he said "You are a psychologist." It was neither a question nor a guess. It was a simple, straight out declaration.
Phileas glanced back sharply at the doctor, wanting to see his response. Despite knowing better, he hoped that, maybe, with in those few exchanges, Camin could have already made his diagnoses and Jules wouldn't have to suffer this undignified verbal examination any longer. But he did know better.
Dr Camin continued to smile, a well rehearsed expression that had never failed him in putting at ease and gaining the trust of his patients. "Yes, I am a psychologist." he answered, nodding slightly, acknowledging the boy's observational skills. He moved toward him, taking slow careful steps, being sure not to start the child in any possible way. "Does that bother you?"
Jules sighed. He didn't bother looking up at Phileas for an explanation this time. He didn't need one. "I suppose I expected it." he admitted.
Camin stopped beside the bed. He noted the Lord of the Manor standing rather close to the boy, a protective stance... maybe even over protective. He wondered if he was protecting the child from the doctor or from the voices The valet had joked on their ride to the manor about the psychologist seeing to his master and his cousin, the Miss Rebecca fogg. Camin now wondered if the jittery frenchman had truly been joking.
But, returning his attention back to the reason behind THIS visit, Dr Camin asked the boy "Do you know why I am here?"
Jules shrugged. "I suppose there is some concern that I am losing my mind."
"Do you think you are losing your mind?"
Jules Verne looked at him for a long moment, before smiling. "Only every other day."
"No." Phileas suddenly spoke up, drawing the eyes of the other two.
The doctor frowned at the interruption, but Jules looked up at his friend eyes wide with curiosity and wonder.
Phileas' strong and steady gaze met that of the unsure boy's. "Verne, you have an exceptional gift. As to the why of this gift, I do not know. I do know, though, that you have this gift. You are not losing your mind."
"You're talking about the vision, Fogg." Jules pointed out. "Not the whispers."
"Visions?" Camin inquired. Apparently he had not been told everything about this unique young man. And Fogg, apparently again, had been supporting, perhaps even encouraging, an unhealthy mental condition in the boy. This was not good... for either of them.
Both Fogg and Verne ignored him.
"As long as I have known you, Verne, nothing had come to that mind of yours without a reason." Phileas continued. "The visions have reason, purpose, that we have seen time and time again, proving that fact." he paused, but only for the slightest of moments. "There must be a reason for these voices. You must simply decipher that reason."
Jules smiled slightly. "Simply?"
"Simply." Phileas nodded once, a sharp and direct movement meant to say volumes without saying a single word. He rested a hand on his young friend's shoulder for a moment, then turned around to face the doctor. "Dr Camin, if you will walk with me, I will see you to the door."
Camin continued to frown. He did not understand what had just happened, but, professionally, it put him on edge. Referring to all his education and his long years of experience, this was not a healthy situation, and he did not want to leave it like this. But that same education and experience warned him that such a protective guardian, such as Lord Phileas Fogg, had a profound effect on some one as young and impressionable as this young Jules Verne. Forcing a separation of the two could do more damage than good. He had to find out what was happening and convince Fogg into giving the boy up.
"Doctor?" Fogg called to the man, holding the bedroom door open for them to exit.
Camin quickly offered a smile to the youngster, saying "Bonne nuit, Monsuir Verne." Then turned and followed Fogg out into the hall. Once the door was securely latched behind them, he faced Fogg. "Sir, you did summon me here for my expertise..."
"Which was a mistake." Fogg quickly interrupted.
The doctor couldn't help but feel a little insulted. "And why is that?" he asked, managing to keep his tone under strict control.
"Because, there is no ground work laid out for what goes on in Verne's head." Fogg explained without truly explaining anything. "How can you make a correct diagnoses when you have nothing to compare him to?" he shook his head. "My apologies for interrupting your day, Doctor. Passpartout will see you home." He started away, down the hall.
Alright, now he was feeling more than a little insulted. "I do not believe that you are capable of making such a decision about that boy's welfare."
Phileas Fogg stopped. The muscles in his back went visibly taunt. With very precise, very dangerous movement, he turned to, once again, face the doctor. "You believe so?" Despite his obvious anger, his tone remained calm, pleasant even.
Camin had plunge in and didn't know how to get out. Swallowing hard, trying to dislodge the lump that had suddenly appeared in his throat. he mustered his courage to continue. "Yes, I believe so. Mister Fogg, it is obvious that Mister Verne means a great deal to you and your household. You want to believe that he is alright, that nothing can ever be wrong with him. Every father feels this way toward his children..."
"Verne is not my child." Fogg pointed out, momentarily amused with the idea of him being anyone's father. Amused again with the idea of any father trying to keep in hand a young Jules Verne.
"You have the same effect on the boy as a father, or, perhaps, and older brother would have." Camin responded. "And you are reacting as such." He held his chin high, ready to take whatever the man was going to dish out after hearing his next words. "That simply truths here are that Jules Verne is not only hearing voices, as you have informed me earlier, but also seeing things... Visions are for prophets, Mister Fogg. Jules Verne is dillusional... and you are encouraging this ill condition." He refused to see the man stiffen. He refused to believe that he was in any real danger here. "What should be done immediately is for you to step back into that room and tell Mister Verne that you believe it best for him to come with me back to the hospital where he can receive the proper ca..." His words ended in a yipe as he saw the tall, powerful man coming at him.
Suddenly a flash of red hair bleared across his vision as a tall, beautiful woman stepped between them. "Phileas, behave yourself." Rebecca Fogg warned her cousin. "You wished to hear Dr Camin's opinion. Do not blame him for giving you what you asked for!"
Phileas glared at her for a long, seething moment.
For the longest time, Camin was terrified that this delegate looking woman would be no match for the hulking "gentleman" who stood ready to strangle the life out of him, not to mention any further opinion he might have.
But, Phileas rage was no match for the strength of those emerald green eyes of his cousin. With a wave of his hand, he spun about and stomped away, yelling as he went "Passpartout! Where are you?"